


Southern Lights

by ItJustMeansTheShizzle



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Original Character(s), Ramsay is His Own Warning, altho maybe ooc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-03-29 10:26:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19018027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItJustMeansTheShizzle/pseuds/ItJustMeansTheShizzle
Summary: Sansa wants to travel to King’s Landing and rescue the Tyrell siblings from the High Sparrow — even if Ramsay has to come along.  Prepare for horse racing, a penis merchant and fire set by an evil cat(?).  Set loosely in season 6.





	1. The Incident of the First Slap

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the first few chapters of this when season 6 was airing, mostly because I liked the potential of Sansa manipulating Ramsay and them ending up as a power couple. And welp, that did not happen at all... The first chapters ended up being a compromise from what was developing in the show and what I wanted to happen, so I’m not super sure if other people will like this but I’m a lil more confident to post it with my fingers crossed!

Bursting open the door, Sansa greeted her husband with stormy eyes that were ready for anything.  “Take me with you,” the Stark girl demanded.

Ramsay stared blankly with a chicken drumstick hanging in his hand.  Sansa wondered if it was blood dripping from the stick but if she had glanced at the plate, she’d realise that it was only gravy.  Instead, the redhead kept her eyes steady on Ramsay in the same watch tower that Brienne watched for her Lady’s signal. Finally Ramsay’s face broke into a smile at his fierce wife’s appearance.  

“Take you where?” he asked, “Should I take you to the woods, or to the garden – most of the followers- I mean flowers, sorry, have died by the way – we could go to the fortress, or to the torture room, I think the Wall is a bit too cold for a day trip…” Ramsay was listing all the places in Winterfell he knew.  Sansa’s patience was about to explode when he finished with, “or are you simply wanting to head to our chamber room?”

Sansa wished she could give the Bolton boy’s smug face a slap but she simply shook her head.  She had something in mind that was as shocking as a slap to the face, but it was no way near as satisfying as literally hurting him.   “I want to go to King’s Landing with you.”

Sansa noticed how his jaw clenched.  “And what makes you think I’m going to King’s Landing?”

The chair creaked in protest as Sansa sat opposite Ramsay. She swore that no fake smile would fool her into thinking her husband was any better than Joffrey Baratheon.  Sansa decided to retaliate by throwing one of her own insincere smiles. “To save the Queen and Ser Loras Tyrell, of course, from this new barbaric cult that has driven King’s Landing into uproar.”

“How did you find out this information, my beloved?” Ramsay tried to make his voice pleasant but his hand instinctively gripped his knife tighter.  All of the servants _loved_ his wife and seemed eager to serve her.  On the other hand, the servants gave Ramsay looks of hatred and had probably spat on the dinner he no longer had an appetite for.  If he couldn’t already smell their fear, Ramsay would have gauged a servant’s eyes out by now. However, if they were telling Sansa information like this then obviously they weren’t afraid enough.  He’d have to do something about that.

“How I found out about this information doesn’t concern you.  What concerns you is that the Queen has been taken prisoner and you need to save her for your King’s sake!” Sansa couldn’t help raising her voice.

“Queens can be easily replaced,” Ramsay replied.  “If King Tommen really wanted his wife free, he could do it himself.”

“King Tommen is still just a boy and the Tyrell’s are good friends of mine,” Sansa stated.  “I owe Queen Margaery and I can’t repay her if she dies in a filthy prison unless I go to King’s Landing.”  Sansa tried to argue. She had been trapped in King’s Landing and would still be if Margaery hadn’t married Joffrey.  Instead she was married to Ramsay who was more evil but at least she was home in Winterfell. Margaery also released Sansa from her shackles of loneliness every now and again and made her genuinely smile.  Sansa couldn’t allow Margaery to die in a cell. She could hardly bare the thought.   

Wiping his hands clean with his napkin, Ramsay rose from his seat only to kneel before Sansa.  Inwardly, he cursed how tall she was but somehow he reassuringly held Sansa’s long and delicate fingers.  Throughout this he could feel her shiver. Sansa was visibly surprised to see that for at least a few seconds, she had reached Ramsay’s black heart.      

The way Sansa looked down at him, made Ramsay feel uncomfortable.  He said with a soft whisper, “The North has no plans to rescue the Tyrell siblings.”  He watched Sansa’s face fall into a range of emotions that included disappointment. Was she disappointed in _him_?  The question he could answer with his father but with Sansa, at this moment, he couldn’t tell.  Then like a stab in the back, he realised his own emotions were betraying him. He was feeling guilty.  How dare she manipulate him into feeling guilty.   

“It doesn’t have to be the North that rescues them, it’s better if it’s only you and me,” Sansa began with little hesitation.  For her friend’s sake she had to make Ramsay listen. “If you go by yourself: a war won’t be started; it’s better controlled and the King will be forced to reward you.  Doesn’t that suffice as reasons to go?” Suddenly Ramsay made his decision and rose to kiss Sansa’s forehead.

“If I go with you,” Ramsay began, stroking her long hair that he secretly adored (he always preferred redheads),  “I’d end up dead and you’d be able to run towards your bastard brother at the Night’s Watch.” Ramsay harshly tugged at Sansa’s hair, “I’m not risking my life for you, you stupid whore.”

With a blink of an eye, Ramsay was thrown across the room.  Not comprehending what had just occurred, Ramsay’s hand met the blossoming, dark, red handprint on his cheek.  

The two merely exchanged glances before Sansa stormed out of the room.  A quiet smile graced her lips but her adrenaline encouraged her to retreat from the wrath of her husband.    

Ramsay didn’t get up immediately.  For a bit he just lay on the floor in deep thought.  He didn’t feel angry at Sansa, which surprised him. She had humiliated him but he had done far worse in this early stage of marriage.  Ramsay uncomfortably acknowledged he felt regret at his weakness, his need to satisfy his sadistic tendencies at war with the spell Sansa had cast on him.

*

Roose Bolton had called for his son’s company.  Ramsay was surprised by the warmth in the room when he entered.  Throughout their rule of Winterfell, Ramsay had watched his father move furniture into all the castle’s rooms; lit hundreds of candles and fires of various makes; and sat on the same chair his father strived to find the perfect home for in these various rooms that was again and again proclaimed ‘too damn cold’.

“You’ve finally found the right room, Lord Father.”  Roose struggled to agree when Ramsay’s figure made the room’s temperature significantly drop.  Maybe Catelyn Tully’s old room would be warmer, Roose wondered. He’d have to move Sansa out of it first.  Then again, would Roose be able to focus on his wine and his plans to run Winterfell while knowing Sansa and Ramsay had been _together_ in it.

“There’s something different about this room…” Ramsay commented, feeling lost. 

A small smile crept onto Roose’s face, as he had known, his son would pick up on the change he had made, or at least that there was one. “I’m sitting on the left chair.”

“The left…” Ramsey went through it in his head, “…but you always want to sit on the right.”

“No, Ramsay,” Roose gestured to his son to take a seat.  “Ever since you’ve been in my care _you’ve_ always wanted to sit on the left.  Only God knows why you favour to sit on my left but you do so I let you be there.”   

Ramsay listened in fascination to his father’s words.  Most of the time Ramsay felt invisible to him yet Roose noticed a habit that he wasn’t even aware of himself.

“Well I’m not a boy with such trivial needs anymore,” Ramsay replied after a moment.  Still, he felt a small panic rise in his stomach as he sat down on the chair. Unable to ignore it, he chugged down his beverage.  “Why are you sitting there?”

Roose cocked his head slowly while savouring his bitter wine.  He wasn’t smiling when he answered, “To see the left cheek that all my men are laughing about.”   

The Warden of the North carefully studied his heir’s reaction.  Lips moved to form lies but no words came out. His left hand clenched the chair’s arm in order for him to not cover the handprint on his face and therefore not disappoint his father.  Ramsay’s right hand had the privilege of freedom and lightly tugged at hair as if he was trying to relive the moment. Green eyes meanwhile stared at the abyss of the now darkened room.  His composure troubled the senior Bolton.

“May I flay your precious men?” Ramsay asked quietly.  He already knew the answer to _that_ question.

“No.” Roose answered firmly.  “Has married life not taken well to Sansa?”

Ramsay raised his head in search for answers.  Life with _him_ certainly didn’t suit Sansa.  Jaime Lannister popped into his mind, a handsome knight who Ramsay had only seen once.  All the women had fawned over the Prince Charming looking Lannister who responded in a chivalrous manner.  If Lannister hadn’t sworn an oath to stay celibate, Ramsay thought, he would’ve slept with all those women in the same night.  Would life with Jaime Lannister suit Sansa? No one was perfect; maybe Sansa didn’t want a husband who was perfect anyway. Ramsay dropped his chin, deciding he didn’t want to answer his father’s question.  “Why do you ask?”   

Roose thought the answer was obvious.  “For a smart girl like her to hit back so soon in your life together is alarming.  I can’t have you kill each other before you even give me a grandchild.”

So much of the Bolton’s future in the North depended on Ramsay’s marriage.  If Ramsay killed Sansa then the Stark’s loyal bannerman would attack the Bolton’s.  If Sansa killed Ramsay then Roose would have one less crucial leader in defending his title against Stannis Baratheon.  And if there was no Bolton and Stark heir then the foundations of the marriage would collapse and the Bolton’s would be back at square one. 

Ramsay shifted in his chair as he tried to explain, “Sansa wanted to go to King’s Landing to rescue the Tyrell siblings.”  Ramsay watched in delight as his father’s features widened. “That’s not even the best part: she only wants me and her to go – with no army to accompany us.  Tried to dress it up as a good idea, too.” Ramsay mimicked, “ _We wouldn’t start a war if it’s just you fighting and King Tommen will reward you greatly as long as you don’t die!_ ”

The two men laughed for two completely different reasons.  Roose drank little drops from his glass while Ramsay continuingly chugged down his wine.  The elder man decided that this wasn’t ‘The Perfect Room’ and that he would have to find more warmth in this winter infested castle.  No matter his son’s opinion.

“I think Sansa’s plan is a brilliant one.” 

“Pardon?” Ramsay laughed in disbelief.

“Your wife has a brilliant plan.” Roose smiled, setting down his glass and standing up.  “No war would be started; I’ll be able to get our men ready for Stannis Baratheon’s attack.  When you succeed, King Tommen will likely grant you a favour and you will ask for men to defend Winterfell for the Bolton’s.   Our relationship will grow stronger with the crown and Sansa will be eternally grateful. It’s a great plan that cunning girl has created.”

Ramsay couldn’t believe this change in direction.  When did his father start calling the Stark girl ‘cunning’?  Afraid of the reply, the bastard asked, “And if the plan fails and I am to face death, would you fight for me?”

Roose Bolton stared at his son in challenge as he responded with, “You always loved playing as the character who broke into the highly secured buildings.  You, my son, are the best qualified Northerner to break into a guarded prison.”

The sadistic bastard was now completely overwhelmed by the emotions of the day.  His dad had chosen an odd time to pay him the greatest of compliments out of nowhere.  “What if I don’t want to go?”

A second rare laugh escaped the Warden of the North’s lips.  With ultimate sass he turned to the door without glancing at Ramsay.  “Let’s be honest, son: guilt doesn’t suit you.”


	2. Spontaneous Allies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

Sansa's eyes opened reluctantly.  In her tired state, she became fixated by the darkness of the early winter morning.

It had been a difficult night to fall asleep.  Every one before was as difficult a conquest and every time for the same reason: Ramsay Bolton.  Since the day of their wedding, he had visited her chamber every night without fail and without warning, coming anytime he wished.  Sansa lay in a bed filled with dread, awake for far longer than she should've been, watching the door and waiting for Ramsay's terrifying figure.  Remarks about his red left cheek had the whole of Winterfell laughing behind the monster's back. Her fears were confident that her husband would be furious with her and that his anger would be unleashed at night.  The fear whirled around in circles, that Ramsay would be at his worst, till her fatigued mind fell asleep.

In the midst of her yawn, she remembered that Ramsay hadn't made an appearance since their talk.   _ Is he embarrassed _ ?  If it had been the slap, she wished that she had done it sooner.  Perhaps a bit of well-deserved respect would start coming her way now.

Sansa was admiring the fact she had taken the whole quilt in her sleep when she realised the voice who had woken her up early was trying to drag her off the bed.  "My Lady, we really must rush this morning,” the servant girl ushered. “Your husband wants you ready and packed to go at dawn.”

“Wha...what?” Sansa mumbled, rubbing her eyes.

“Just get out of bed!” the sleep deprived servant barked.  After remembering who she was talking to, the woman recovered herself.  “You are to be part of your husband’s travelling party to see the green lights in the South...  Exciting, eh?”

Stretching as she rose from her bed and her hair all over the place, Sansa grew suspicious.  There was little excitement about this upcoming green lights. The snow had not settled since her father’s morbid execution.  Stannis Baratheon was planning an attack on Winterfell and Roose Bolton was making plans to defend it. Either this was Ramsay’s tedious way of punishing her or he’d gone completely mad.  It was said that the green lights were the North’s Dornish clear, blue sea. 

Nevertheless, the Stark girl had little time to mull over Ramsay’s motivations.  The servant wanted Sansa to be bathed, fed and have her things together before there was a single, impatient call for her Lady.

* 

At the crack of dawn, Sansa was ready to go.  To her irritation there was no sign of Ramsay or her ‘travelling party’ as the few people who were awake hadn’t seen him since he called for Sansa to be woken.

It didn’t take long before Sansa guessed his whereabouts.

Walking through the cold, icy wind, the girl noticed the lack of activity in Winterfell during the first hour of light.  The fresh air made Sansa feel relaxed and free when she arrived in the dog kennels.

Reek was the only one awake.  He hadn’t slept since Ramsay told him to pack his things.  It was obvious his master was drunk and so he was sceptical if it was true about them going to leave Winterfell, especially when Ramsay’s reasons went to “seeing the green lights” to “saving the flower banner”.  The lord just managed to mock how Theon had nothing to pack before promising to give him a toothbrush and falling instantly asleep beside him. Next to his head was Ramsay’s own lightly packed bag.

Sansa and Reek silently discussed whether to wake him or not.  Just as Sansa opened her mouth, she jumped. 

“Good morning, my Lady!” a loud voice beamed.  All the dogs simultaneously started barking at the sound of the stranger’s voice.  Ramsay bolted out of his sleep in alertness as he frantically began massaging his head.  There was a great pain in his ego.

“Nice one, Rizzio,”  a tired voice hissed behind.  Sansa turned to look at a 16 year old and an older man beside her.  They too carried rucksacks. The boy’s blue hues were sparkling at Sansa and hid his lack of sleep.  The older man, in his late 40s; however, had huge bags under his pure black eyes.

“Someone’s a little grumpy,” Rizzio whispered behind his hand to Sansa and pointing at the older soldier.  “Sorry for disturbing your sleep Ramsay. I’m just so excited for our journey to King’s Landing.” 

Sansa’s mouth dropped open and her eyes spun between Rizzio and her husband who was busy silencing his dogs.   _They were actually going to King’s Landing and rescuing Margaery?_  Sansa did not agree with their fellow party members and bit her lip in contemplation.  If she had to agree to it then she would, but not without adding members of her own.  

“I am your Lord, Rizzio, and you shall address me as your Lord.  Do you understand?” Ramsay asked. The boy’s slouched posture suddenly straightened up as he quickly gave a salute in a gesture of understanding.  Sansa couldn’t help but feel a little admiration for Ramsay’s sinister reputation that could make a cocky boy like Rizzio behave himself.

“Great, we’ll have an excellent trip together.” Ramsay attempted to smile through his hangover.  Reek quietly followed behind his master as they came towards the others. “Rizzio and Kurdha, get horses for each of us and meet us at the gate.  Please.”

The two soldiers didn’t seem pleased at the prospect of walking with five horses.  Rizzio threw the rucksack he had packed for Reek and then went ahead.

“We’re going to King’s Landing?” Sansa immediately asked.

“Yes.”

“I thought we were going to see the green lights in the South?” She couldn’t help feeling stupid while saying it.  It was so obvious now.

“It's our cover story,” Ramsay replied smugly.  His eyes studied her lips, taking notice of her genuine smile.  There was a clear difference between it and Sansa’s fake one and he felt the need to remember that distinction.  It could prove useful in future reference, he told himself. 

The girl didn’t seem phased by the look.  She was too excited by the thought of their rescue mission. “Well it’s a bad cover story considering the green lights are the prettiest in the North.  Everyone in Westeros knows that.”

“You believed it,” he said with his smile growing.

“That’s because I know you’re crazy.”

“I was drinking when I was planning it.  I’m not at my best when I’m drinking,” Ramsay admitted.  Again and again, his wife came out with these bold words with no fear showing.  A part of him was thrilled at the chance of breaking her will but another part of him wanted to leave it alone.  At the moment, he decided to admire the Stark girl. 

Sansa on the other hand fixed her husband with a glare, wondering why he had to start drinking in the first place.  She was grateful that Ramsay had changed his mind but was he going to take it seriously? At least it wasn’t just the two of them travelling. 

“Why did you decide to take Rizzio and that other man? There are better soldiers in Winterfell and I’ve never noticed them before.”  Sansa stated.

There was a pause as Ramsay raised his palm to his face.  Before his father had bid him goodnight, he instructed Ramsay to bring along two good soldiers on his adventure.  The first two soldiers he found, ones who happened to be on guard duty, Ramsay enlisted. With that errand done, he spent the rest of night drinking a couple of bottles of wine with his two new henchmen since he had no friends.  He laughed to Rizzio that Reek had nothing to pack, then packed his own belongings, told a servant girl to get his wife ready, went to the dog kennel’s to tell Reek to pack his bag and instead of getting washed and having a last meal to prepare for their early trip, Ramsay slept in the dog’s kennel.  Why did he drink?

“There are perhaps soldiers with better fighting skills,” he said carefully, “but on a mission like this, we need trust.  And I would trust Rizzio and Kurdha with my life.” The last part was a lie but he didn’t want Sansa to have the satisfaction.

“Shall we depart now?” Ramsay asked, holding his arm out to Sansa and glancing at Reek.

“Yes, Master.”

Sansa halted them, “You can trust those two men with your life, perhaps, and I’ll allow that.  But that doesn’t mean I have to do the same.” 

The two boys watched in dismay as Sansa walked in the opposite direction to Winterfell’s exit.

“My wife,” Ramsay breathed deeply, tasting a bit of bile threatening to rise in his mouth, “that is the wrong way.”

Sansa turned straight faced and tilted her head.  “The wrong way to the gate, you mean.”

“Where else would I mean?” Ramsay asked.  “Are you not eager to save your dear friend?”

At that, the girl’s eyebrows rose.  She spoke loudly and clearly, “I am pleasantly surprised that you changed your mind about King’s Landing, I do not mean to appear ungrateful.  However, if you are to bring two soldiers that you trust with your life then I should be allowed to do the same.” 

Sansa paused to hear any protests.  Reek pleaded with his shaky eyes for her to stop.  He didn’t want her to get hurt and subconsciously placed himself between the married couple.  To his relief, Ramsay remained calm. “Who do you have in mind?”

The Stark girl smiled in victory as she waited for the boys to catch up to her.  All she said was, “You shall see.”


	3. Security is a process

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa meets with two familiar faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, I got a brilliant beta reader which has made the editing process more fun! Bonne lecture :) Also, warning of violence and slight gore, super soz for any unpleasantness it may cause.

“They can’t keep you safe,” Ramsay warned lightly and Sansa, from life teaching her such, acquiesced that he was right.  She knew he was only talking about the people in this small pond of Winterfell where she had led them to and who were in her reach. He was being far too narrow-minded, for no one could in the whole world could protect her.  

Yet, she held her head high as if she had a whole fleet at her beck-and-call in the slum, where the grungiest of the smallfolk tried to make a home.  One needed eyes on the back of their head whilst their neighbour, with hardly a wink of sleep during the night, left for work in the dead hours of morning to try and fend.  They were too tired from working too hard to afford their own existence, let alone be of service to Sansa. So the insecure smallfolk they might have to remain.

But deeper into the street, glimmers of strength became more apparent.  Vendors preparing their stalls saw a potential customer in Sansa, selling things like hand-weaved fabrics that required skill and dedication of hard skinned fingers to make.  And a soft pat, which she only noticed because Ramsay noticed, from a pocket thief who saw her as a potential victim, reminded Sansa to not underestimate anyone.   From what news she had of King’s Landing, the common folk showed everyone they had strength to imprison the Queen.  They didn’t fear the crown. It would take a stronger force to take on the man who had hurt her the most, though. 

Ramsay wanted to make that point perfectly clear as he threw the pickpocket to the ground.  He accepted no apologies, he accepted no excuses. Smiling a little, he slowly angled a knife into the thief’s eye, digging experimentally whilst he savoured the man’s cries.  A loud  _ pop _ coincided with the watery ball being pulled out, blood spilling out to accompany its exit.  The hole made Sansa queasy, realising the image would be forever etched into her own eyes when the man tried to hide it with his reddening hands.  For a reason she didn’t quite understand, Ramsay started wrestling with the hands, speaking softly to the man with words she wouldn’t be able to hear even if he was shouting them.  In the time between Ramsay throwing the man on the ground and taking out his eye, it was so quick, she hadn’t stopped it. The pocket thief couldn’t defend himself.

However, when the knife was raised to the man’s last remaining eye, Sansa found her voice.  “That’s enough.”

“He tried to steal from you.”

“And now you’ve made him pay kindly by losing an eye.  Let’s keep moving.” 

Theon couldn’t help seeing Catelyn when Sansa spoke up.  Catelyn only did so for her family. The command was no way near as strong as her mother’s, but the surprise of it appearing sufficed.  Despite his master’s reluctance, Reek did as Sansa said. Ramsay followed, regaining the lead.

Continuing their walk, Ramsay questioned who Sansa had in mind for trustworthy guards.  Did she have a gang of teenage girls with superpowers; a tribe of dothraki or a new litter of direwolves?  At one point Sansa had to shake her head at the interrogation of a zombiefied Joffrey Baratheon who had possibly become her undead servant after his poisoning and served her cake each night since.  For appearance, Sansa pulled a disgusted face at the disrespect of the late king but really she was fighting to keep her laughter away.

She didn’t want to laugh at anything a Bolton said, just as much as she wanted to be happy when they listened to her and did what she wanted.  For this was her winning the game she was taught to play. Ramsay was letting them take this precise detour because Sansa wanted protection for their mission.  Slowly working Ramsay so that he’d die for her was the endgame, and an awful part of her felt self-congratulatory that he tortured a thief for her. It was a part of herself she didn’t like.

The trio stopped in front of an alley.  Mothers ushered their children inside to start on their daily chores.  Other young ones, who were covered in snow, stayed to build snow castles as their parents weren’t aware of the knife-wielding passer-by.

Sansa told them to wait outside.  It would be a less dicier meeting if she went in alone.  Ramsay debated about protesting. His curiosity was burning like a rash about who occupied the house his wife headed towards.  How loyal were they to Sansa? How big of a threat did they pose? How much fun could he have with these new opponents? He stood with anticipation, wiping blood off his knife, feeling particularly murderous this morning.  If a battle was to ensue - Ramsay wouldn’t be fussed if he was outnumbered - he would make sure to traumatise the children playing nearby.

For the moment, he put his knife back inside its sheath and then placed it in his sleeve for later use.  “If you want us to wait here, be quick. We should’ve left Winterfell by now.” He crouched down to gather snow.  “And get food for Reek and I. I. Am. Starving.”

With a happy look that had been on his face since he saw the glimmer of Catelyn Stark, Reek bent down and started collecting snow with his master.

Sansa hoped to find reliable people who could at least hold their own in combat.  At the door, she was greeted by a frail old man. Without needing words, he welcomed her inside and gestured to the stairs.  He then went to another room, leaving as quickly as he had appeared. Sansa didn’t mind the abandonnement, used to confronting danger as a one-woman army.  Pain had made her adapt to the realities of this world and manipulation, her weapon of defence, was prepared to be drawn. 

Walking around pairs of well-worn traveller boots at the bottom, she climbed the stairway, both sides of her shoulders taking turns bumping into the narrow walls.  An animalistic growl came from a room above, its door ajar. Akin to a direwolf’s, the noise brought her back years. Lady growled fiercely when her siblings tried to steal the usually timid pup’s food.  Ghost’s large ears would always shoot up in the air and he’d back off with an apologetic whimper. But Lady’s bark was always louder than her bites. It was a time when they could afford to hate their siblings over the smallest of things, and it was also a time when Sansa could laugh at a display of fierceness without worrying about someone getting hurt.  Now her guard had to be  _ always  _ on.  She always had to pretend to be strong on her own, whilst ignoring how she missed the security that her family had given her.  

The low growl from upstairs both comforted and unnerved her ears.  With her concentration focused on the mysterious noise, one of Sansa’s toes rocketed into a particularly unevenly high step.

_ “Shit! _ ” Sansa gasped, and whimpered while half-wondering if the largest toe was broken. “Gods…” She bit on her bottom lip.  Trying to find a sense of composure, Sansa made it to the top of the stairs, where light held a stronger reign than it did down below.  She hadn’t known what to expect, but was sure it wasn’t an empty room. Two unmade beds and there was also a fireplace that was furiously crackling with bright coloured embers.  Its warmth was a temporary escape from the biting cold. The room had to be in some sort of use. A book was open on the bedside table, Sansa noticed. Her fingers brushed past the words as she thought about her next move.  Where could they be?

There was no sound of the growl anymore.

Within an instant, one of the beds jumped up and Sansa was grabbed from behind.  She quickly fought against the figure with all her strength. “Let go of me, now!”

Underneath the bed that still had four legs on the ground came a familiar face, who struggled to crawl out.  “My Lady, must you be so rough? She’s come alone.”

“Is that true, Lady Stark?” a voice from behind calmly asked. 

Sansa attempted to regain her breath, “Ramsay Bolton and Theon Greyjoy are waiting outside… but I’ve only come to ask for your  _ charming  _ services.”

After a moment, Sansa was released.  Her eyes wide, she watched the man finally rise from under the bed.  She struggled to remember his name, “…Beanprick.”

“My name is Podrick, actually.”  He gestured for her to sit on the bed.

Sansa studied Brienne with little amusement.  The tall warrior kneeled before the younger woman.  “Forgive me, my Lady. I had to act cautiously since our signal had been discovered and an old woman got skinned alive.”  Brienne did not mean to sound malicious. Only honest.

“I placed my trust in the wrong person.  And caused a loyal woman to lose her life,” Sansa said, a heaviness in her chest.  “A mistake I won’t repeat.”

“Very wise, my Lady.  You said the Bolton bastard is waiting outside?” Brienne asked, her permanent frown set for the day.  “Waiting for what?”

“Two warriors whom I trust my life with.” Sansa began to question if she made the right decision.   _ Trust no one. _

“Two - are you including me?” Podrick asked, his eyes flashing.

When Sansa looked at him, she saw Tyrion’s most trusted right-hand man.  If he had left King's Landing, she knew it would’ve been on the discerning dwarf’s order.  Then again, Podrick was no knight. Not yet, at least.

“Maybe, Podrick.”  Sansa studied her nails.

Brienne didn’t jump to her squire’s defence. He was an eager and obedient student but his progress was slow towards becoming a blood spilling warrior.

“And why do you need two loyal warriors, my Lady?” she asked, crossing her arms. “Or, why do think you need us?”

Sansa explained what was happening in the South and her proposed quest.  Podrick listened intently. He had heard little from King’s Landing. Unsurprisingly, the capital was becoming more and more corrupt each day.  It made him sad.

Brienne’s eyes grew wider as she listened and her mouth gave out a mocking laugh when Sansa had finished.  “You want me to help you and the  _ Boltons _ ?  Not to rescue you but the  _ Tyrells _ ?” She walked towards the window in disbelief, getting the perfect view of Ramsay and Reek declaring war to the neighbourhood children in a snowball fight.  “Your quest is noble, my Lady but it’s too dangerous, especially with the Bolton bastard involved.”

“That’s why I’m asking for your service.  I need Ramsay for his nature to accomplish my aim swiftly, but I want the protection of your swords.  You can stay true to the oath you made to my mother and accompany me, or wait here until I return from King’s Landing and wait longer for my-never-going-to-happen request of rescuing me.  Either way: I’ll go.”

“Last week you tried to light the signal,” Brienne replied.  She wondered what Sansa’s true aim was; she was a smart girl who didn’t need to get married to the family who murdered her mother and brother.  “You must’ve had a moment of sanity.”

Things had not gotten better since Sansa’s desperate move, until yesterday.  Something had changed that made Sansa want to smile today, to soon be capable of growling when someone tried to take from her, to believe she could get revenge one day.  All the while ignoring the part that said she didn’t want to do it alone.

“Well, I’m afraid I’ve lost it,” Sansa said.  “Furthermore, there’s no sign of it coming back to me.”

Brienne turned to see the beautiful girl smiling as if she knew that she had them in the palm of her hand.  “So be it. We will ride with you and I hope that within that time your sanity will return before we reach the Lannister’s borders,” Brienne said.

Sansa released a breath of relief.  She had gained the service of Brienne of Tarth and Tyrion’s right hand man.  Hopefully, it was the right decision. “You’re with me?”

“Yes.  We’re with you,” Brienne said reluctantly. She hated when other girls seemed to squeal over nothing.

Sansa ignored Brienne’s lack of enthusiasm.  Her mind felt like it was forgetting something…

“You have my service too, m’lady.” Podrick confirmed.  He was desperate to get out of the cramped house and adventure during his training with Brienne and see other folk.  Some company with other lads would make him miss Tyrion a bit less.

“Good.” Sansa nodded, finally remembering what she had forgotten.  “We should get some food provisions.” Preferably enough so she didn’t have to share.


End file.
